


Turnabout Detective

by HimeBee



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Detective AU, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Sherlock McCree, Slow Burn, Widowed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 17:51:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14920070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HimeBee/pseuds/HimeBee
Summary: "How could anyone have done this? My husband was a good man!"Your face was smothered with grief, salty tears flowing down your face in a steady, seemingly never-ending stream. How was he supposed to confess now? You looked so broken, so very fragile...





	Turnabout Detective

"Thank you for your time, ma'am. Once again, I'm sorry for your loss. May we find the man who did this, and soon." The man tipped his hat to you as he exited your home, radioing to his station about your wellbeing, presumably.

 

That had marked the sixth officer that came to your home to "ask a few questions" about your husband, and if he had any well-kept secrets or perhaps enemies. You didn't know anything, all you knew was your husband of three years had been murdered in cold blood, right in your home. One bullet through the head.

For the life of you, you couldn't fathom why anyone would want to hurt him. Still, reality had yet to hit you until that afternoon when two more officers had come by for questioning. You broke down bawling and wailing to the heavens, just asking God "why?!"

The officers took their leave, allowing you some time to finally mourn your loss. Honestly, you would've thought the police would be _a bit_ more considerate of a widow whose husband had been murdered. And yet, they continued to question you, from early in the morning to late in the afternoon.

 

You were sweeping around the house when a light knock sounded against your door. It was sure to either be another officer, here for questioning, or a sympathetic neighbor bringing flowers and such to remember your husband. Although you appreciated the sentiment, you just wanted to be alone right now.

Nevertheless, you placed your broom against a wall before walking over to your front door. You pressed your hands against the door as you leant up to the peep hole, pressing your eye against it to see who it was and mentally debating if you should ignore it or not. Much to your surprise, and slight confusion, an older man you had never seen before was standing at your doorstep with a pipe in his mouth.

He wasn't wearing a uniform and he didn't have flowers, so what exactly _did_ he want? You were too curious to let this slip by without at least questioning this stranger.

 

"Yes?" You answered finally, voice loud enough to permeate the hard wood of the door.

"Ah, Mrs. [Your Last Name]? May I come in?" The fact that he knew your name wasn't surprising. Your husband's obituary was already in the town's local papers.

What bothered you was the fact that he had referred to you as "Mrs". You suck in a sharp breath, suddenly feeling lightheaded and sick to your stomach. _Not anymore_.

"O-one second..." You gave him another once over, checking for any weapons or ulterior motives in those tired mocha brown eyes of his.

He wasn't armed, so that was a relief for you. Yet, you still felt uneasy. Why was this man showing up at your house _now_?

 

There was no use in asking yourself this when the man in question was standing right outside your front door. With a long sigh, you undo the deadbolt and crack the door open, peeking your head out a little.

"Can I help you?"

" _Ahem_ , pardon the intrusion, ma'am." The stranger took off his hat and held it to his chest, head slightly bowed as he acknowledged you.

"I was wonderin' if I could ask ya a few questions 'bout yer husband." Your eyes narrowed into mere slits as you stared at his face, and your sudden bitterness is not lost on him.

"So you _are_ another cop, huh? I told you I didn't want any more questions today, so just leave me alone!" You wanted to slam the door in his face, you really did, but his foot caught the door before it could click shut.

 

Your glare hardened as your eyes shifted from his face, to his foot wedged in your door, then back up to his face again.

"I think ya misunderstood my intentions, ma'am. I'm not a cop, I'm a detective. I just wanna ask ya a few questions. I know you've been bombarded with them all day, an I apologize fer that, but please," the man's eyes softened, and your heart tightened painfully at this.

"I just wanna help ya... I won't take too much of yer time, I swear on my life." He held a hand to his heart for added emphasis, tanned face contorting into a somewhat puppy-like frown. How could you say no to that sincerity?

"...Fine." Eventually, you relented and allowed the detective into your home without another word.

 

Few words are exchanged between the both of you as you headed out to the living room. You offered to make him something to drink, but he politely declined. You both sat down in chairs opposite from one another before he broke the silence, words accompanied by an awkward cough.

"My name's Jesse McCree, and I just wanna say I'm sorry fer yer loss." You laughed bitterly, head tilted down as you stared absent-mindedly into the brown swirl of your coffee, a reflection of your own bitterness.

"Yes, well, isn't everyone sorry? I'm just another 'poor soul' that has become the talk of the town. As far as I'm concerned, I don't want any pity." Jesse winced internally at your intensity, but it was to be expected of a mourning widow.

"I didn't mean it like that, Mrs. [Your Last Name]-" You cut off the rest of his pity speech as you abruptly stood to your feet, coffee cup taking a tumble and shattering against the hardwood floor.

"Stop calling me that! I'm _not_ married anymore, so stop it!" It was inevitable, your uncontrollable emotions were bound to go haywire. You had an inkling that you would break down again, eventually.

 

The tears were flowing now and you couldn't stop them. Did he expect you to? The love of your life had been wrongfully taken from you, and it wasn't fair. An entire day spent reliving the horrifying image of your love sitting stiffly in his armchair, head tossed back with a disturbingly terrified expression on his face and a bullet in his brain.

A thin film of scarlet splattered against the wall behind him and soaking into the chair's plush material confirmed that the bullet was _still_  in his head, considering there was no exit wound, according to the coroner. The last expression your husband would ever make was one of perpetual fear, that fact alone caused you to choke up with tears. 

 

 _He had been scared in his last moments_.

 

This thought haunted you the most, and you couldn't understand why, but thinking just how scared he must have been before his death brought a sickness to your stomach. His entire face was stuck like this, now and forever until deterioration of the flesh, and it made you so nauseous... Rigor mortis must have set in fairly quickly.

It was as if your husband realized he was going to die, but was too afraid to face death so soon. Unfortunately for him, he was not given a choice in the matter as the murderer pulled the trigger. A bullet through the head ensured his death, and the perpetrator had been vigilant enough to not leave behind a lick of evidence.

To think that the person who killed your husband was _still_ on the loose was just... Nauseating. From the startled look on McCree's face, you knew that your sudden change in behavior had shocked him. Still, he understood why you would do what you did in the first place. You were grieving.

 

"How could anyone have done this? My husband was a good man!"

Your face was smothered with grief, salty tears flowing down your face in a steady, seemingly never-ending stream. How was he supposed to confess to you? You looked so broken, so very fragile... It would be in his best interests to comfort you for now, and confess later. _Maybe_.

"Here, uh, ma'am.. Why don'tcha have a seat and I'll clean this mess up, yeah?" You didn't feel comfortable letting a man you had only known for about a half hour clean up a mess you made, yet you were too tired to retaliate.

Strangled, choppy breaths escaped your parted lips in small increments, body sprawling out on the sofa as you flopped down against it. You were suddenly so very tired, but it would be kind of rude to fall asleep in the presence of a guest.

 

You watched Jesse with half-lidded eyes as he carefully picked up the broken ceramic pieces of your cup, placing them in a dustpan. Maybe you should thank him... For putting up with your shit so far. Besides, he was here to help find the man that killed your husband, and yet you were delaying the process with your little temper tantrums.

"I-I'm really sorry about how I acted.. You're just here to help, and I'm giving you a hard time." Jesse stared up at you from his spot on the floor as you spoke softly to him.

You looked so... Lovely; sitting there on the couch with your beautiful legs crossed at the ankle, chest heaving only slightly. Jesse furrowed his eyebrows at the sudden intrusive thoughts cycling through his mind. Why the hell was he checking out a dead man's wife? A man _he_ took the life of, in his own damn house of all places.

 

You held his gaze with a tired smile spreading across your face before you began to speak once more.

"So, Jesse McCree... What would you like to know about my husband?" The sooner this interrogation was over, the quicker you could continue mourning your love lost. 

Your mom told you how it would be unhealthy to mourn longer than necessary, but you just couldn't see it. After all the years you had been together, you couldn't possibly imagine your life without him. It was all too painful, and quite frankly, you weren't sure when you would stop grieving...

"Ah, I just wanna know where ya were when this all went down. I'm not accusin' ya or nothin', just curious is all." You scoffed, leaning back into the sofa with your arms crossed when the detective took a seat next to you. 

 

"If you _were_ accusing me, I wouldn't be surprised. I've been questioned all day.. Nothing surprises me anymore." You didn't want to give the man a hard time, but you couldn't help how victimized you felt. 

"I was... Out at the time. Picking up a few things to celebrate." Jesse pulled out a small pad as you spoke, jotting down a few things. 

"Celebrate what?" You pursed your lips and sighed. 

"Our anniversary." He wanted to say something else, to comfort you, but the sound of rumbling thunder and heavy rain interrupted his thoughts. 

"Damn, it's rainin' cats an dogs out there, huh... It's gonna be a real pain in the ass walkin' back home." Honestly, his woes should have not concerned you, and yet they still did. 

 

You felt compelled to help the detective out. Besides, it was getting fairly dark now. It would be kind of rude to send him out now.

"I mean, you could stay here for the night if you want. It's not a problem." McCree definitely did _not_ look comfortable with that.

You were a mourning widow for God's sake! He already felt as if he was intruding, and staying the night with you would make him feel even worse. You _were_ the wife of a man he had murdered in cold blood. Despite his status as a detective, he was still responsible for what happened to your husband. Of course, he wasn't ready to tell you that yet.

 

"If ya really don't mind my intrusion, ma'am." Jesse didn't want to slip up and offend you again.

"I don't mind at all.. And please, call me [Your Name]." What a pretty name... 

If you knew exactly who you were talking to, he had a feeling you wouldn't act so generous toward him, the man that killed your husband. It was quite ironic, actually. The fact that you were housing your husband's killer, unknowingly of course. 

 

 

"Well much obliged, [Your Name]." 


End file.
